


Method to His Madness

by JackPhryne4eva



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackPhryne4eva/pseuds/JackPhryne4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning home after his shift, Jack was not expecting Phryne to be waiting for him. Settled too comfortably in his leather chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Method to His Madness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts), [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts), [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/gifts).



> For those who like the darkness as well as the light

“I never said I was going out. Just that I was going.”  
Jack rolled his eyes at Phryne’s half-truths.  
She’d been in his office that evening, ostensibly, to speak about the case, presumably, to gauge his feelings about that afternoon’s events. And then she’d slunk out to a society engagement, or so he’d thought judging by her outfit. A full-length black fox fur with those damned Columbian emeralds.

Returning home an hour later, he’d not expected her to be waiting for him. Settled too comfortably in his leather chair.

When he stared open mouthed at her audacity (and her exposed legs, if he would look and he pointedly wasn’t), she sparkled at him, “Aren’t you going to offer me a whiskey?” 

As if he’d capitulate immediately.

He chose not to answer. Nor respond to her request.  
He was still not pleased with her behavior that afternoon.  
Instead he took himself to his bedroom, removed his layers routinely, methodically. 

Like he did his job:  
Followed up evidence,  
Questioned his witnesses,  
Wrote his reports. 

Not like Phryne did her investigations. With wanton abandon and questionable tactics. 

The man was a murderer for God’s sake!

He yanked his tie too forcefully causing it to crease. “Damn.” He muttered. After placing his cufflinks on his bureau, he sat down heavily in the chair set near his bed and proceeded to remove:  
Shoes, left then right.  
Garters and socks, left then right. 

Methodically.  
Carefully.

Damn. What was she intending by being here?  
She pushed too far. Too fast.  
As if that man could have been trusted to not harm her just because she was a woman slinking up to him with those mischievous eyes and ruby red lips. Anything could have happened to her. She was vulnerable in his arms. He could have crushed her in his grip. He could have taken more than a kiss. What might have happened if he hadn’t caught up to her?

He ground his teeth together and stood up.  
He’d tell her how angry she’d made him. Tell her what anxiety it caused him when she raced off without a word. He’d tell her how it had terrified him to see that murderer. Murderer! Holding her. Kissing her. Wantonly. And she seemed. Fine.

He’d say no such thing. Because that would require him to be honest with her (which he wasn’t). 

He poured two drinks and carried them out to his front room.  
Where he found his chair empty. 

He sat down in it.  
The leather was cold.  
Carefully, he set down the two glasses on the side table.  
And picked up his book.  
Opening it to his marked page, he began to read.


End file.
